Hero
by ChAoS-iN-oRdEr
Summary: AU HP/DM: In a world where there is no magic, two boys struggle to survive; one, hardened by lack of love, the other broken by it, and both trying to pick up the pieces. Who will be there at the end? Who will be their hero? STRONG T! See warnings! Oneshot


Title: Hero

Author: ChAoS-iN-oRdEr

Word count: 3,005

Rating : Strong T (tell me if you think it should be an M, I'm not sure)

Genre: Romance/Tragedy

Warnings: SLASH! That means boy/boy relationship! If you don't like: don't read. I will NOT accept any reviews responding negatively to the pairing. Also there is abuse, violence, cutting, character death, OC (just to get the story going), but nothing sexual.

Pairing: HP/DM

A/N: This is an AU story taking place in a non-magical world. I originally wrote this for my GCSE narrative assessment (got an A star for those who care!) but, it fit perfectly here, so I changed a few things, and here we are! I'm a really big HP/DM fan, so I hope this does the couple justice. I know it's short, but I would really appreciate feedback on this!

**Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the recognisable material belongs to their original creator(s).**

Hero 

Looking back over the year, I came to realise that his battle was as futile as a woman feeling the first pangs of labour and deciding it's an inconvenient time to give birth. Nature wins out. It always does. I couldn't blame him, after all he's done, all he's been through. The more my mind processed the sudden turn of events, the more I was thankful. Thankful for that one magnificent year we had.

"Your brother is in St. Mungo's hospital. You are to go to him, and make sure he is well." My father always spoke in such a monotonous, practiced voice, never showing any emotions. Then again, no Malfoy ever did. We were, as our reputation suggested, cold, and Lucius Malfoy was no exception. Wealthy, a businessman, and part of an arranged marriage he was everything a Malfoy was meant to be. Everything he wanted me to be. Not daring to answer back, or ask what happened, I stiffly nodded, and made my way to my Bentley, a 17th birthday present, glided into the front seat and speeded along to attend to my sibling.

Upon entering the establishment, the stench of disinfectant, cleanliness and overall smell nobody can ever fully understand unless they have been to a hospital themselves waded into my nostrils; I could practically taste the vile aroma. The white of the walls near blinded me as I strode over to the bespectacled receptionist. "Good afternoon Tulip, " I uttered, flashing her a true Malfoy smile; fake, but always the charmer; after glancing at her name tag. "I'm here to visit one Vilus Malfoy. My name is Draco Malfoy, and I am his brother." The old woman smiled back, accentuating her wrinkles as if crumpling up ancient parchment, and directed me to the children's ward. I moved briskly along the corridors, left and right, up and down, until I eventually came across a door crudely painted in bright colours, with the words 'Children's Ward' emblazoned in the middle by shockingly white paint. I opened the nauseating door, and my sight was all at once filled with youngsters of all ages, some in bed, some playing with a pack of cards, and others just chatting amiably. My eye caught a head of white-blond hair – another Malfoy trait – and I glided over to see my brother. His arm was in a sling, his leg in a cast. I looked at his medical record at the foot of his bed, and found that he had been in a car accident. I took a seat next to his bed, and exchanged pleasantries that felt more forced than constipated man attempting to relieve himself, but didn't speak to him normally as he was just like my father; cold and unfeeling.

Suddenly, all the children in the ward silenced, as if a universal gag had been placed on them. Looking around, I became frustrated, not finding anything worthy of this silence, until my gaze rested on him. He was, without a doubt, the most stunning creature I had ever had the fortune to gaze upon. He had black hair down to his mid-back, waving like a lazy river. He looked about sixteen years old, and overall was very short and small, with delicate features that should have looked feminine, but on him they just fit. Before I could turn my head his eyes caught mine. Captivating. A pair of glistening emeralds in amongst the snow. They were so full of life and vibrancy, as if his every emotion could be seen; and right now he had a look of mild curiosity and confinement. "Hello," he said, his voice running through me like melted chocolate, "my name is Harry, what's yours?"

"Draco," I replied, in what I could only hope was a strong voice. It seemed all my control, the well-kept mask I had worn for years, had crumbled this very moment, all because of one teenager.

"Well Draco," he said, his face lighting up as he tested out my name, "you are going to help me read to these delightful children!" I raised my eyebrow coolly, as if daring him, but he held my gaze, and I melted. I placed my hands on my knees and pushed myself up, making my way towards Harry. We read 'There's A Hippopotamus on My Roof,' and it became clear to me a few things. One, that Harry was a natural with children, captivating them in a way I had only seen on TV; two, that these children had obviously heard this before, as they often joined in; and third, I had never had so much fun in my life. There was just something about Harry, something that broke down all of the defences I had built and gave birth to a new Draco; a Draco who laughed, who had fun, and who had friends. We carried on in much the same way, reading, playing and talking to the children who seemed so happy and normal. Not one acted like they carried the weight of illness, of terminal disease.

I came back. I came back every day for seven months to St. Mungo's, and more specifically, to the children's ward, to see those beaming faces, to hear those peals of laughter, and to feel a love and kindness unknown to me. My brother had been discharged after my second visit, but that mattered not to me, and as far as father knew I was away on business. All that mattered to me was relaxing, having fun, and getting to know Harry. He truly was an enigma, and it became a tradition of ours to play a sort of 20 questions, where we found out what each other's likes and dislikes were, our hobbies and our fears. It was safe to say that were became very close. Maybe it was because we were the only 17 year olds there – he told me of his actual age in one of our games – perhaps it was because we both needed someone old enough to talk to, that could understand the other. However I could not say we were as close as brothers, because we weren't. Harry had told me very little of his past, only that his parents had died when he was young; and because there was another emotion there. It was hidden in a fog of confused messages, but it was there. A glance, a shying smile, a brushing of hands was enough to know that some other sort of feeling was there. Then one day, I knew what that feeling was.

It was a particularly hot day of July, and the children were mostly inside, where the air was at a comfortable temperature so as not to harm them. Harry and I were sitting outside on the grass, our back rested against a strong oak tree. I had always admired oak trees, so strong and brave in their stance, as if nothing could make them fall. I was talking about nonsense to Harry when my eyes travelled to his neck. He was wearing a white shirt with the arms rolled up, and the top button was undone revealing a silvery line snaking around his throat. I asked Harry what it was, and his eyes clouded over. Peering into them, I saw pain, disgust and conflict, as if he were having an inner battle. That probably was the case as he waited several minutes before speaking.

"I can trust you?" He whispered in a small voice I strained to hear. It shook and quivered, his crystal-like eyes looking at me widely, as if staring right into my soul. I nodded slowly but surely, taking his small hand in my larger one in an attempt to calm him. He took a few deep breaths, and spoke. "When my parents died I was six. I was then sent to my aunt and uncle's, on my mother's side. They hated my mother for being so smart, and when I was sent to live with them...I was...abused."

Boy looked into the wide window with longing eyes at such a loving family eating their dinner. Around a small, wooden table sat three. The first was a rather frail looking lady serving potatoes to a man the size of a whale, taking up two whole seats, whilst their equally as large son vacuumed the mountain of food from his plate. Boy looked up at the night sky and prayed for food. He prayed for something, anything to make the pain go away. He was so hungry! Maybe if he did all of his chores Sir would give him some leftovers. If only he were so lucky. Boy only got food if he was good, and good meant finishing his chores on time. He had mowed the lawn, weeded the extravagant garden, cooked, dusted and cleaned the house. It wasn't enough. Boy was chained to his kennel by a dog collar and a leash, as usual. His throat hurt. It hurt so much from the leather rubbing against his parched, aching neck. The stained-red rags he wore caught and ripped from the massive splinters his home gave, and as he looked at Sir, he looked back. Sir's face turned red, then purple, shaking in fury as he stormed outside to Boy. Boy shook and shook, clambering back as far as he could, rocking his whole body back and forth, back and forth as silent tears streamed down his bruised face. Suddenly a great shadow covered his kennel with a dark shadow, and a large, calloused hand thrusted inside, grabbing the tiny boy by the collar and throwing him outside onto the muddy, wet ground. He shouted words of torment, words of filth. Such hurtful words jumbled together to produce a deafening wave of pain, tearing Boy's mind to pieces. He barely noticed as he was undone from his leash and kicked to his knees. Then a whooshing sound and ARGH! His back was ripped open by the leather, hitting old wounds and creating new ones in their places. He whimpered in pain, but dared not scream. If he screamed, he was dead.

"They hurt me Draco; they made me forget my own name! I was so helpless, but nobody came. Ten years I was at that hell-hole! Ten years of constant slavery and beating, until someone decided to check up on me!" His words increased to a massive crescendo until he was screaming the words. I was in shock. How could anyone hurt such a pure, kind hearted boy? Tears poured down both our faces in torrents, and I did the only thing I could do. I gently turned him to my face, and hugged him in comforting embrace, letting the tears stream down my top. That's when I knew what that feeling was; the feeling that made my heart pound, and my breath catch. It was love. I don't know how it happened, but it did. So I held Harry, I held my beloved and wept with him for all his misfortune.

I stepped into the hospital once more and made my way to Tulip. I had been away for a week, my father needed me to visit some business clients, and I missed Harry more than ever. I reached the tired, worn-out receptionist and asked to see Harry in my most pleasant, charming manner. The smile she gave me faltered for a moment before looking at her computer screen. I furrowed my brows in confusion. What was going on? After a few moments she directed me into a waiting room, white walls and floor, a few tasteless chairs scattered around. I took a seat and waited. After what seemed like hours, a doctor with close-cropped dark hair and deep eyes entered, and sat beside me. By this point my stomach was doing somersaults and I was struggling to breathe. "Good Afternoon Mr Malfoy, my name is Doctor Stephen Justin," he began, in a low tone. "I'm afraid there's no easy way to say this. Mr Harry Potter passed away yesterday." Passed away... Those words echoed in my head as I sat frozen to the seat. Harry was gone. I was in shock. Why? He was the only thing that made life fun, which made life worth living. Before Harry, I was nothing but a copy of my father, but Harry allowed me find myself. He gave me a chance to live. With a speed unknown to me I raced out of the room, faster than the wind, and ran like I was being chased – which I was – until I found a store cupboard. I rushed inside, blocking the handle with a broom. I slid down against the wall to the floor, my head in my hands. Grief, and utter agony, ripped through my mind, destroying every part of me. Then, I remembered. I remembered the Swiss army knife I always carried around with me. I frantically searched my pockets, almost ripping my clothes in haste until my hand enclosed around the cool metal. I brought it to my face, admiring the dull shine, and then swiftly brought it to my wrists, slashing each one in turn. I watched, fascinated as the crimson regret swam down my arms, creating large puddles on the floor. I was dimly aware of the sound of a door crashing open, of someone grabbing me, but all I thought about was Harry. How we would be together soon. Then I became one with the darkness.

My eyes opened wearily. What had happened? I searched through the fog that was my mind, until a man with a white coat approached me. He told me I tried to commit suicide. That I almost succeeded. The blood loss was almost too much to cope with. I clutched at my head as the memories of the night before washed over me like cold water. "Harry?" I looked at the doctor, silently begging him to tell me Harry was alive, but all I received was a small shake of his head. My heart sank. The doctor placed a piece of paper in my hands, and I stared quizzically at him. He just nodded to the paper and went to sit at the other end of the room. Dazed, I looked at the white sheet, before gasping. I recognised that scruffy, childlike writing. It was Harry's.

Draco,

I haven't seen you in a while. Are you okay? I sincerely hope so. If you receive this letter it means that I am dead. There was something that I didn't tell you, all those days ago when it was just you and I, chatting whilst playing with those sweet children. I wasn't at the hospital just for the children, I have a kidney deformity. When I was with those people I was malnourished, hence my height, and my kidney didn't develop as it should. When the person who found me took me to hospital, they told me what was wrong, and said that I needed to stay at the hospital to have a dialysis every day, until there was a suitable kidney donor. I don't know the specifics, how could I when I've never been to secondary school? After seven years of waiting, I grew steadily into depression, the children being the only ones who could make me feel slightly better. Then you came along, and you changed me. I have never felt so happy, so safe, as I did with you, and I don't regret a moment of it. I was worried when you didn't show up after I told you of my 'family' but the doctors told me you were away on business, so my mind is at ease. I know that my days are numbered, it's been too long, but I can't be ungrateful after this one perfect year we've shared. I just have one wish; that is for you to live. Don't be who you're father wants you to be; don't through your life away. Do something with it. Help people like me, I beg you, nobody should suffer that, and I know that you have the strength to go on. Don't mourn for me, but live your life for the children, for me. I shall see you on the other side.

All my love, Harry.

I did live. After graduating in Law, I created a non-profit organisation to find and help abused children get the lives they deserve. Later, that branched out into medical matters, to make sure that no child lost a life that could have been saved. I became a household name, to them I was a hero through and through, but I took no credit. How could I when all I did was for Harry. He was the real hero. He was the one to help those who were ill, even though he was barely alive himself, and never asked for anything in return. Looking back over the year, I came to realise that his battle was as futile as a woman feeling the first pangs of labour and deciding it's an inconvenient time to give birth. Nature wins out. It always does. I couldn't blame him, after all he's done, all he's been through. The more my mind processed the sudden turn of events, the more I was thankful. Thankful for that one magnificent year we had. I died a ripe old age of eighty-nine, unmarried and with no children. When I opened my eyes I was somewhere bright. There was nothing but a brilliant, blinding light. Looking down at myself I realised I looked the same I did when I was with him. I heard the padding of footsteps and slowly turned around, only to be met with Harry, in his seventeen year old body. "Where are we?" I asked him.

"Wherever you want to be." He replied, smiling as he did so. I slowly grinned, then raced towards the petite man, lifting him in my arms and holding tight, never wanting to let go.

Do you want to know the name of my charity? It's called Harry's Cradle for All Children. His green eyes always did remind me of a cat.


End file.
